


Six Times Sherlock was a Dick and the One Time he was a Dork

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Crush at First Sight, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sarcasm, Sexual Humor, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Sherlock's interesting journey from five to thirty-five
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 27





	Six Times Sherlock was a Dick and the One Time he was a Dork

The dining room, richly decorated with pastel shades on the walls, plenty of wood paneling and satiny drapes in a royal blue color, echoed with the laughter and chatter of the group that sat at the expensive glass and mahogany dinner table. A five course meal was being served by the butler, perfect crystal ware and silverware gracing the table top, those eating just as immaculately dressed.

Away from the group and in a corner of the spacious room, on a small kid’s table and attended to by a doting nanny, sat a five year old boy. He was pretty and chubby, with dark brown curly hairs and blue-green eyes, the sort of child any parent would proudly show off. _But that was not the case here._

This boy, named William Sherlock Scott Holmes, was the younger of two sons of Reginald and Eugenia Holmes, a wealthy and talented couple whose intelligence levels were exceptional. Their elder son Mycroft, now twelve, was just as brilliant. It was too early for Sherlock to show his brilliance yet but the problem here was _not_ about what Sherlock didn’t show, but about what _he did_. Sherlock had not spoken more than one word or two here and there and as the birthdays passed and the day when he’d go to school drew nearer and nearer, his worried parents had begun to wonder if their son was on the autism spectrum. No amount of visits to the child psychologist, speech therapist etc had worked in his favor and Sherlock, always bored and restless while alone and grumpy and violent during social interactions, continued his strangely mute existence.

Among the ten guests at the twenty-seater table was a man named Archie who was a distant cousin of Reginald’s and a very unpleasant person. Twice divorced, disowned by his own friends, he didn’t cull favors anywhere. Eugenia didn’t like him at all, neither did Mycroft, but they tolerated him for the sake of Reginald who didn’t want to be rude to someone who had once shared his childhood days.

As always, the horrid man started taunting Sherlock.

“The chicken nuggets are really nice, eh Sherlock? Care for some?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Oh sorry, I forgot, you have decided not to speak.”

Eugenia and her sister Monique, who was also there with her family, gave him a sharp look. Reginald coughed, “Sherlock is a quiet boy.”

“Guess what we called such quiet boys back in our days Sherlock,” the relentless man didn’t stop despite the glares he got from almost everyone at the table, “Slow.”

Reginald was about to object and ask his cousin to shut up when Sherlock did the unthinkable. The boy who never spoke more than ‘mummy’, ‘daddy’, ‘Mike’ and the usual ‘yes’ and ‘no’, suddenly stood up from his chair and spoke a complete sentence, with the sarcasm only seen in adults. “Guess what we call old men who don’t know how to speak to kids? _Son of a bitch_.”

He walked out with his nose in the air but, needless to say, that dinner ensured Archie never visited them again and the rest of the family had a tale to tell for years afterwards.

***

Sherlock was nine years old when he developed a serious tonsillitis problem. After several trips to the doctor and at least six cases of cold and sore throat and fever in just a year, his parents eventually took him to a well-know ENT specialist who recommended that they do a tonsillectomy on the child. On the day of the procedure, Eugenia and her mother Magda accompanied him to the clinic where they tried to prep him for the next steps. “Be a brave boy Sherlock,” said the grandmother, “Cooperate with the doctor and do not panic, okay, just d-do not-not…um….panic!”

“I wouldn’t, if _you stop panicking_ as well,” Sherlock said tersely and the old lady quickly shut her mouth, blushing.

The doctor was an expert, hugely respected for his work and considered a magician by those who visited him. But he was also one of those super-professional and super-busy physicians who acted like a cold fish and was quite insensitive towards his patients, especially the younger ones. So, when he started the procedure without even talking to Sherlock for a bit or preparing him for what was to come, the poor kid began to weep half-way through the process. “Oh c’mon, don’t be such a girl,” the doctor said impatiently as Sherlock squirmed, “ _A little pain is what makes us true men. Hear that before_?”

Sherlock’s eyes, which were previously brimming with tears, now glowed with some kind of anger. Eugenia noticed and whispered to her mother, “I am worried.”

“Oh he will be fine, my grandson is brave,” Magda replied, trembling all over and looking away.

“I am not worried about Sherlock, but for the doctor.”

When the procedure finished, the doctor had an accomplished look on his face. “There,” he said nonchalantly, “Easy peasy! You will be much better soon. What? What happened? Something bothering you?”

Sherlock appeared to be choking on something. “There’s something in this throat,” the nurse said, looking alarmed.

The doctor stuck his hand into Sherlock’s open mouth, as abruptly as he had done the previous time, but this time the kid was prepared for it. In a split second the doctor screeched at the top of his voice, trying to withdraw his hand but unable to. Sherlock held it between his teeth, locking his strong jaw around it and keeping it right there.

“Oh my God,” Eugenia rushed towards her son. Magda, who disliked the doctor just as much, calmly got up and said, “I’ll go get an ice cream for my grandson.”

“HELP, HELP,” shouted the doctor, trying to get his hand out but failing to do so as Sherlock put more pressure on his flesh, his sharp teeth almost breaking the skin, “Owww, what a savage child. And the lady is rewarding him with an ice cream…..ouch, _let go you little monster_ , it hurts….” He tried withdrawing his hand again, using the brute force of an adult to pull his hand out. It only resulted in Sherlock going up with the hand trapped in his mouth but he didn’t let go of the hand despite everything. “Murder, someone save me, get this thing off my hand, police, someone, anyone, HELP!” The doctor kept screaming.

“Sherlock, let go, please son…..”

“Nnnggggnnnn!”

“Damn it, it hurts you wicked little ruffian.”

_Sherlock finally let go._ The doctor collapsed on the chair, clutching at his hand and bawling like a child. There were toothmarks on his skin that had begun to turn blue by then. The same tough guy who threw nervous patients condescending glances now seemed like a little boy himself, a hurt and sissy boy! Sherlock calmly got off from the chair and walked towards the door, turning only at the last moment to smirk at the doctor.

“ _A little pain is what makes us true men,”_ Sherlock said in a tone that reflected bitchy delight, “ _Hear that before_? Oh yes you have doctor, you just told me a while ago.”

***

Mycroft was twenty-one and Sherlock was thirteen the next spectacular foot in the mouth incident happened. Mycroft had dated girls for five years, including a serious girlfriend who lasted two years. But by the time he had hit twenty, Mycroft realized he was something else.

_He was a gay man._

He was not a bisexual, which he often told himself he was. After a few one-night stands and several moments of deep-introspection, Mycroft realized he could only be friends with women. Even an affair wasn’t possible because both his physical and emotional orientation was entirely towards men and not the fairer sex. He often contemplated coming out to his parents but kept putting it off for a better time, a more appropriate moment etc, delaying the inevitable.

Until a day arrived when Mycroft learned a lesson the hard way. If something had to be done, _better do it now_.

Taking advantage of his parents being away from Friday evening to Sunday morning, he had called his then boyfriend Roger over. The plan was for Roger to stay overnight and leave in the wee hours of the morning, before the Holmes couple returned home around 8 am from their stay at a country estate belonging to their friends.

Obviously Mycroft had to take some quick measures to ensure absolute secrecy. No one must know he had brought a guy home and that fellow had stayed overnight at their place. The first thing he did was to give their housekeeper Petunia a day off. Petunia was a stay-at-home help and was delighted to have this free time so she could visit some relatives. A second maid came by every alternate day to do the laundry, vacuuming, gardening and run some errands for Petunia. She too was sent home after the laundry was done and slightly before Sherlock woke up after a sleep-in on the weekend.

When the teenaged Sherlock walked into the kitchen, he saw his elder brother drinking coffee. “Coffee?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “What happened to the tea?”

“Can’t find it.”

“It’s on that shelf, up there, in the ceramic jar with the boho print.”

“Oh, how did you know?”

“I remember the entire kitchen set-up,” Sherlock said proudly, “From the jars and containers and their contents to the drawers and the fridge. I just looked at them once and then set a pattern in my mind palace to help me remember the whole thing and…..”

“Fine, fine, no need to boast,” Mycroft checked his watch, “I suppose you’re here because you’re hungry and need to eat something, eh?” When Sherlock nodded the elder sibling acted like a total bully and snapped, “Well then, you’re old enough to sleep in until eleven in the morning then I suppose you’re also old enough to make your own breakfast. Petunia is away today and I am not cooking anything for you.”

“What does sleeping late on a weekend have to do with making breakfast and being old enough?” Sherlock scratched his head and stared in bewilderment at his brother, “I am hungry. I need to eat something. What did you have for breakfast?”

“Oh go on and make yourself some cold cereal with milk. Or just chow down on some instant noodles. I will order some pizza in the evening but that’s all you’re getting until mummy and daddy come back home tomorrow morning.”

Sherlock didn’t argue and went straight to the refrigerator. He knew his mummy would have some food stashed away in the fridge but when he searched, he was quite taken aback to see those missing. The chocolate cake, the wraps, the Scotch eggs, all gone. Did the already fat Mycroft stuff himself with that much food or was he planning to have some sort of party in mummy and daddy’s absence?

_Must keep an eye on him. He is not to be trusted._

That day Mycroft bullied him and scolded him a lot. Sherlock was quite used to that and mostly ignored Mycroft as dire threats were made and ultimatums were issued towards him at the drop of a hat. “Sherlock, if you dare to touch my new motorcycle you are dead.” “Lockie, don’t even think about disturbing me once my friends are here, or else you’re dead.” “Sherlock Holmes, do not even dream about following me when I go into father’s study or you’re dead.” “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you little fucker, did you touch my after-shave again? If you do that one more time, or touch any of my toiletries or belongings, then I am assuring you that……”

“Let me guess,” Sherlock said cockily, “I am _dead_?”

“Well, yeah.”

“As if…..”

That night, as Mycroft and Roger cuddled in bed with pizza and watched movies while kissing and touching and making love every one to two hours, Sherlock watched them a few times through the keyhole. He had been given his pizza and coca cola and ordered to remain within the confines of his room but Sherlock wasn’t one to listen to such orders. The more someone tried to restrict him, the more he rebelled and went in the exact opposite direction. Mycroft had no clue that his brother knew.

The next day, after Roger had left and Petunia and his parents had returned in quick succession, Mycroft was horrified to find that a large chunk of his casual savings, which he kept in a stylish jar shaped like a ship, was missing. Mycroft worked as a lab research assistant and was training to become an intelligence officer, drawing a handsome stipend from both. His cash stash was enviable and ran into thousands of pounds.

“Mummy,” he burst into the sitting room that evening, “Lockie deserves to be taught a lesson.”

“What did your brother do now?” Daddy responded instead, “Eug, if you have one kid you’re a parent but as soon as there are two you’re a…..” He winked at his wife. “Referee!” Eugenia replied as she grinned at her husband, “Well said Reg.”

“Mummy this is serious. He stole seven hundred pounds. And guess what he did with the money? He bought THE mountain bike, the racing bike with gears that daddy promised him for Christmas. He couldn’t wait, I guess.”

“Oh….” The two parents turned towards Sherlock, looking baffled. Even for an eccentric little rabble rouser like Sherlock this was quite a huge thing. Mycroft snorted and shook his head, waiting for the younger sibling to take a whack or two.

“Lockie,” Eugenia said, “Did you really steal from your brother and buy bike on your own? Daddy did say you have to wait for it and….and you’re not supposed to steal.”

“I did not steal mummy,” Sherlock defended himself immediately, confident as ever in whatever he presented, making Mycroft chaff at the arrogant tone but he was yet to receive the shocker of his life. As Eugenia asked if Mycroft had allowed him to take the money, a nonchalant Sherlock replied, “No, he didn’t exactly give it to me. Why would he have to give it when I earned it? This is money he owes me and I took it as my own, it is in fact my money now.” He looked at an agitated Mycroft who was advancing on him like a taller, stronger elder sibling would do to make the younger one cower down. But it didn’t work this time with Sherlock.

“How exactly did you earn this?” Mycroft growled.

“This is hush money,” Sherlock replied.

“Bollocks, what do you mean by that?”

“Stop it right here Mike or you will be sorry.”

“I damn well won’t.”

“If you don’t agree with me I will tell mummy and daddy you were kissing your college senior Roger’s pee-pee last night.”

Mycroft didn’t speak to Sherlock for a year after that. Eugenia got up and walked out of the room that evening, stunned, and never mentioned it again. Reginald grinned, then said ‘Now now Sherlock, one must not say certain things in the presence of elders’.

***

Sherlock, with the encouragement of his first boyfriend and roommate Victor Trevor during their Cambridge days together, started to work as an amateur detective when he was only twenty. After solving the mystery of Victor’s rich dad’s stolen Rolex watch and later the mystery of their college principle’s stolen property papers, Sherlock had become quite famous in the student community.

One of his fellow students, a hot and attractive woman named Pamela, had an eye for the green-eyed, tall and lean young man.

She first tried to ask him out but he simply took it as an invite for coffee or a movie and always got someone else along, mostly Victor. Then she tried to kiss him and he backed off, saying he had homework to do and she shouldn’t be scrutinizing his face so closely. Then she tried to drop broad hints in his presence by adjusting her low-cut blouse, unzipping her knee high boots, rumpling her hair and letting it fall over his shoulders and even applying a bright red lipstick on her pouty lips while he was seated next to her.

_None of those ways worked and Sherlock remained oblivious as ever._

Her friends discouraged her. Some said he was an arrogant prick and a misogynist who didn’t trust women. Others claimed he was rumored to be gay and was sleeping with Victor. When she checked with other openly gay men in the campus they said they had attempted to garner Sherlock’s attention, only to be rebuffed and ignored like Pamela was. Eventually Pamela concluded that Sherlock liked to play hard-to-get and had exceptionally high standards for a chosen partner and only she, as a beautiful and clever woman, could fulfil those expectations. “All he needs is to be seduced,” she said to her friends, “And seduce him I will.”

So she called Sherlock over for dinner and an ‘important discussion’, cooked a yummy three course meal and ordered the finest wine to go with it, and waited for him in a sheer black negligee made of mostly lace and a little satin, with a plunging neckline and rising hemline.

Sherlock arrived, punctual as ever, then rushed past her to use the facilities. ‘Emergency, step aside Pam’, was what he offered as an excuse, barely even looking at her. Though taken aback initially, she refused to be discouraged and took matters to the bedroom.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom to find her lounging on the bed with a seductive vixenish grin on her pretty face. He looked at her curiously.

_Yes, yes, it is working, he is coming closer._

“Pam where are the rest of your clothes?”

She gasped, “I…ehm….Sherlock…..” she didn’t know of a comeback to that.

“Ah I see now what this is about,” Sherlock took out his notebook and pen, “This is a case and you want me to find out which of the jealous cunts around stole your expensive Dior or Gucci dress, right?”

Pamela never married. She wasn’t heartbroken, merely astounded and lost faith on menfolk since that evening.

***

Criminal mastermind Jim Moriarty was chasing Sherlock with a gun, angry at the way the latter had foiled his masterful attempt at replacing yet another priceless painting with a really good fake. The Irishman, already at loggerheads with Sherlock, knew one thing for sure. This fellow was as brilliant as he was and if he, Jim, had to rule the world then Sherlock needed to be got rid of.

“Gotcha,” he changed directions, took a short cut through the by-lanes and showed up right in front of Sherlock with the gun pointed at him.

Ecstatic at the way he had cornered the great detective and that too without big brother Mycroft or the Scotland Yard inspector Lestrade anywhere close enough to help him this time, Jim snickered and made a triumphant speech. “You see Sherlylocks, your interference has cost me dear and I refuse to let the trend continue. There is room enough for only one of us, not both. So, either I kill you right now or I convert you to my pet. On a leash, at my beck and call, always out of my way when I order you to be so, no will or decision of your own, remote controlled by me all your life. Agree? Choose carefully or you will drop dead in the next five to ten seconds.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Keeping me alive will be dangerous for you while killing me will be a shame.”

“Oh don’t play the ‘I am too great a mind to be destroyed so soon’ card. Not buying it.”

“What’s with all this anger? Because I took the diamonds from you?”

The priceless painting which Jim had been trying to steal was called ‘Glitter of Starlight’; an amazingly bright and brilliant painting of a heap of diamonds strewn next to an elegant necklace, placed on a vintage dressing table top. Okay, so diamonds! “Ye-aah,” he sang, shaking the gun in Sherlock’s face, “Seems you know the obvious Sherrrlyyy. Now where are my ‘diamonds’? Tell me and I might let you live.”

“I haven’t…..”

“What do you mean? Huh? Why are you stripping?”

  
“To prove my point…..”

“What point? What the fuck Sherlock, you’re _naked_.”

“See, I don’t have them on,” Sherlock pointed at his bare groin, “I was free-balling today. It seems none of my underwear was washed so I……”

“WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH MY PAINTING?” Jim yelled.

“Your diamond monogrammed designer underwear,” Sherlock said, absolutely confident that this was all about Jim’s ego being bruised over a stolen expensive piece of undergarment, “As you can see I am not wearing it. I personally don’t prefer those teeny tiny briefs, I am more of a boxers man and…..oh, your sniper is here.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Jim was sure this was a joke, a crass and careless joke that Sherlock had concocted to get out of the situation. But his concentration was briefly impacted as his second in command and lover, Colonel Sebastian Moran, entered the scene.

Jim was about to order Sebastian to tie Sherlock up and give him the third degree when he noticed a rather strange look in his boyfriend’s eyes. The blonde was swiftly looking from him to Sherlock and back, understanding blossoming on his face as he read into the situation of a stark naked Sherlock and a fully clothed Jim in a lonely, dark alley. His amazed look turned into an accusatory one and Jim, desperate not to be misunderstood, quickly went on the defensive. “No, it’s not what you think,” he said, grabbing at Sebastian’s arm, “I had every intention to kill him but he needs to give me information first. He was trying to bluff me into believing it was all about an underwear……”

“Jimmy, I might be less bright but that doesn’t make me a fool. How can a painting turn into a pair of male panties?”

“That’s what I was saying….ask him, ask him yourself.”

Sebastian looked at Sherlock with fire in his eyes. He pointed his pistol right between Sherlock’s eyes and thundered at the sleuth. “Tell me the truth detective, what exactly is the deal here? If you lie I will know and I will make a third eye on your forehead.”

“The truth?”

  
“YES, THE TRUTH!”

Come on Sherlock, you made a major faux pas by thinking it was about Jim’s underwear and not the painting. Now use the situation to your advantage. He cleared his throat, unabashedly displayed his nude beauty to full advantage and crowed.

“He was saying I need to pay him to have sex with him. You heard the last bits, ‘you shall pay for this’. Yeah.”

Jim yelled and lunged at him while his second in command left the scene in a huff, prompting the mastermind to chase after him and let Sherlock go. After a blazing row Sebastian and Jim broke up for six months. Sherlock never told John why Jim seemed to target him so much but he had more or less guessed the reason. That day Sherlock had saved his own life but through his dicky-‘ness’ earned an angry and murderous adversary who eventually almost got him killed a few years later.

***

John had been sharing lodgings with Sherlock for almost a year and slowly, almost as if this was destined, he had begun to feel a strange pull towards his flatmate. Despite being a motormouth and very, very conceited, a completely reckless and unpredictable man at times, Sherlock had a side to him that John found endearing and loveable.

Like the way he stared at John in wide-eyed wonder when the doctor cooked a one-dish meal in no time when they were exhausted and ravenous after working nonstop on a case and hadn’t eaten all day. Moment when Sherlock would disarmingly rest his head on John’s shoulder and doze off when the doctor, after a hard day’s work at the hospital, watched some Judge Judy to unwind and relax.

There were many more such instances that seemed cute and pleasant to the good doctor and John found Sherlock’s company more and more enjoyable as the days passed by and he understood the man better. Whereas he used to love working with Sherlock and solving crimes earlier, later he began to enjoy being at home with Sherlock or going out for a meal or to a concert with him just as much. Still, John hadn’t given up in his heterosexual side and still kept seeing women. That side of his, the one with a streak of toxic masculinity, often cried into his ear and kept telling him to be more of the earlier man that he was and take a breather from his sickeningly domestic life with the sleuth and go out and have fun, date, maybe have sex.

The sex was intermittent and his dates were few and far between. Even when he did go home with one of his dates, it was mostly one night stands and John began to avoid being in an emotional attachment with a woman. Still, sometimes this lifestyle of his got him into trouble.

_Especially since his flatmate was none other than the super-intelligent Sherlock Holmes._

On John’s thirty-fourth birthday, exactly eighteen months into his stay with Sherlock, the two friends were preparing for a quiet and modest celebration together. They would eat lunch at John’s favorite Chinese eatery, then watch a war movie that had just released, then have a drink at a local pub before heading home for dinner and to meet a client who had asked for a late evening appointment.

_Perfect!_

Except that, right as the two men had showered, shaved and dressed for the day and were about to leave, two women showed up at the flat at the same time, both bearing gifts for John Watson. As the startled John recognized them as cousins whom he had met at a party months ago and then had separate short flings with, the two women seemed just as surprised to see each other there. “Janet, what are _you_ doing here?” The chestnut haired woman asked.

“I could as you the _same question_ Alice,” the dark brunette counter questioned.

“I am here to wish my colleague John on his birthday and give him a gift, as you can _see_. We work at the _same_ private clinic where he sees patients three times every week. How are you here though?”

“Well, John visits the café and bookstore I work in and we are friends so I am here for the same purpose as you, to wish him on his birthday and give him a gift. Yeah, _that’s about it_ , nothing more and nothing less.”

John decided to do damage control. First, he had to ensure those two didn’t find out what the real deal was. He didn’t need that drama, especially since neither of the flings were serious and he had moved on from those two. Second, he couldn’t wait to go out with Sherlock who had planned the day for them, choosing the perfect places and pursuits that would make John happy. “Oh Alice, Janet, I am glad to see you both. But you really shouldn’t have taken up so much trouble, a simple text or phone call would have been more than enough. But thanks for the gifts, very thoughtful of you….I mean, both of you.”

He heard Sherlock snort and knew the man was just twitching to insult the two women. He hoped his flatmate kept his _trap shut_.

“Were you going out?” Janet asked.

“Yeah, we had some plans.”

“Open my gift first, please.”

“Oh well, in that case open mine first,” Alice insisted, “I am sure the gift is just ‘made’ for you.”

“So is mine,” shot back Janet, scowling at her cousin.

“Okay, okay, I shall open both,” John said with a big placating grin, hoping the two women left soon and the day proceeded as planned. Giving the two women, who looked both suspicious and annoyed by now, sheepish smiles now and then, he unwrapped his presents. One was a set of personal care products of a leading men’s skin and haircare brand while the other was a pair of jeans and a blazer from an upmarket store downtown.

“These are wonderful but really you girls shouldn’t have spent so much,” John said, hurrying things up in his usual cool and polite manner, “I owe you both. Maybe someday soon I could buy you both a drink. We can go out, all four of us, you two and Sherlock and I……”

“Hold it Jawn.”

John almost did a facepalm. _That’s it_. Sherlock was about to be a _dick_ again but he had no clue yet about how his flatmate was about to send this situation into a downward spiral.

“Ladies, from your gifts I can deduce the exact nature of your relationship with John Watson,” Sherlock spoke with a straight face and his usual poker expression, “The items of personal grooming speak of a deep and intimate knowledge about John’s early morning habits, like his need to shave with a foam that keeps his skin smooth and doesn’t irritate it. The cucumber and lemon fragrance of the aftershave that shows the lady does know how John likes to smell, in bed and out of it. And since none of these information can be taken from someone else but only gained through experience, I can safely proclaim John has slept with Janet.”

John wished he could disappear. _Stop Sherlock, for the love of God, stop._

Sherlock of course didn’t stop there but went on with his analysis, blissfully ignoring the battle that was going on around him with the two women glaring at each other. “The jeans, when I look at it I think it’s just a normal pair of denims, boot cut, long lasting, the nice powder blue that suits John. But anyone can know that by looking at him and his sometimes boring choices in clothing. A deeper inspection is what convinces me that Alice has also slept with John because she seems to have seen his jeans turned inside out and noticed he likes to have a small inside pocket, to slip his really tiny SwissMiniGun inside, just in case we are surrounded and threatened and he has to surrender his usual firearm. That also brings to my mind the blazer…..what happened, why are you both leaving?”

“We have heard enough,” Alice snarled but her eyes were on John.

“But I haven’t finished yet,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Maybe but we are,” Janet snapped at him, glaring dagger at John as well. The two women circled around the rather cautious and somewhat wary John before they marched off towards the door, muttering colorful expletives under their breath. Even though nothing was said aloud the two men could hear every word spoken.

“Asshole,” Alice said.

“Sodding jerk,” Janet echoed.

“Bastard.”

“Wanker.”

Sherlock startled, “Why are you calling me names….oh, I see, you’re abusing John. That’s fine.”

The door slammed, hard. John collapsed on his chair. Sherlock smirked for a split-second and then asked innocently, “Shall we go have some Chinese food then?”

***

_Tiger and I are married now. You loser. Bet your Johnny boy still likes pussies. Total, utter loser. You nearly broke us up once, now it’s your turn to suffer. Enjoy your life with your right hand as your best buddy, wanking away all your frustrations. Attaching a picture of Tiger and I sunbathing naked on our honeymoon, if need be use this pic to wank off into the sunset – JM. PS: Hahahahahaha (my last laugh)_

Jim had left London and England after their showdown, faking his demise and starting a new web somewhere else. But he had been in touch with Sherlock always and the detective found that he actually liked Jim as long as their interests and paths didn’t clash. The man was funny and witty and cute too, until he had started taunting Sherlock mercilessly about his single status and failed love life.

It was hard to fault Jim’s logic and deductions because he had the same brilliant mind as Sherlock. The Irishman, sitting thousands of miles away, still managed to understand what Sherlock was up to simply by exchanging some texts with him. He had deduced right, of course. Sherlock was a bit sad and lost that day, sitting alone in the flat with a sprained ankle and a black eye, a gash on his chin that needed two stitches and some aches and pains in his body. A solved case for the government, a happy Mycroft, plenty of praise in the press, public adulation in buckets and the after-effects of the injuries received in a confrontation with the criminal, Sherlock was surrounded by all this instead of what he truly wanted to be around. His Jawn.

Though he was bandaged, treated, given the usual shots to prevent pain and infection and had a nice fourteen hour nap, Sherlock still felt tired and listless. Waking up to find John already out for lunch was not expected. He thought at least for a day or two John will be around him.

With a deep breath he raised his plastered foot and kept it on an ottoman and settled into a more comfy position on the chair. Then he allowed his head to loll on one side and closed his eyes. He was not tired but staying awake didn’t motivate him anymore. He wanted to pass out.

Maybe he could take a bit of that….. ‘nose powder’. _No Sherlock, don’t, it will upset John. Oh yeah? Like John will ever notice? He is too busy with some woman somewhere, a casual girlfriend or some woman friend he wants to impress. Jim was right, as usual, I’ll die alone_.

He heard stairs creak, footsteps approach, the door open but didn’t bother to deduce who it was or even open his eyes.

Not until someone called out, “Sherl?”

“JAWN.”

“Oh-Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nah, you’re _not real_.”

Sherlock closed his eyes again but even without seeing he knew John’s eyes were glued on to him. He could feel the stare. “What do you mean _I am not real_?” John asked gently as he hovered around the chair Sherlock was perched on.

“I am just imagining you. Every time I think you are real you just get a little further away from me. It’s like seeing a version of you through clear glass. I can see but whenever I try to touch you disappear, just as a mirage would. I don’t want to deceive myself, I am a man of science and not imagination. So yes, you are definitely NOT real.”

He felt his foot carefully moved to a side and a dip in the ottoman. Then those familiar hard, firm hands took his hands and held them tenderly, rubbing circles over his palm with gentle movements of the rough thumb-pads. “Today allow me to deduce something about you Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, may I do that with your permission?” John said affectionately but there was an undercurrent of seriousness and firmness in his tone that raised the detective’s heckles. He opened his eyes and sat up straighter, hoping John was not going to say he’d found his own place and was moving on. Swallowing and breathing hard, he nodded, indicating he was ready to listen.

“For as long back as I can remember you have tried to break up my relationships,” John seemed more amused than angry, “You have deduced things about my girlfriends, like how they have seen me in first thing in the morning or seen my clothes inside out and lying on the floor, what kind of underwear I prefer or the sort of shaving habits I have. I used to always wonder how you knew all those things about me, like the inside pocket of my jeans or the fragrance I prefer.”

Sherlock remained silent. He kept staring at their joined hands. _John had still not let them go_.

“Is that because you and I had always been exceptionally close, despite all my girlfriends?”

“Um….”

“Come on, you know what I mean. We have seen each other naked, slept next to each other, I have seen you in the shower, getting sick in the toilet, we’ve spent a whole night trapped together in a trunk for crying out loud.”

“That-that doesn’t prove anything.”

John’s hands moved to cup his face and the man moved closer as well. Sherlock smelled his aftershave and held his breath. He was feeling especially vulnerable that day and wanted to surrender to whatever this was…..except that he didn’t want to chase a mirage and look like a fool in the aftermath. He had to be sure first. Did John really mean they were boyfriends? Did he just give that hint?

“That’s your problem Sherlock,” John said with a smile, “Everything is not proof and evidence. You said you’re a man of science but this isn’t science. It’s about the heart. If you still don’t get it then here is my statement, clear and crisp and leaves no room for ambiguity. I love you Sherlock, always did, and I am sorry it took me so long to realize it. But better late than never. I am here now and will always be there for you, right until the end. So, will you do the honor of being with me forever but not marrying me?”

To John’s shock, the only answer he got was a trembling Sherlock suddenly clinging to him, all emotional and speechless.

Feeling a need to explain himself further, John took out three boxes from a gym bag he was carrying. He handed them to Sherlock and said, softly, “You know Sherlock, last evening I had a moment of epiphany and realization. When I saw you held at gunpoint, when I saw you in that scuffle and heard you groan as you punched and also took a couple of punches, I knew for a fact that all this we share today could be gone in just a single moment. And here we are, like utter dorks, wasting away whatever opportunities we have of being happy, of being together. So I let you sleep on while I went shopping. I got these things for you, please open them and tell me whether you like them or not.”

Sherlock kept staring at John as if he was seeing him for the first time, until John nudged him gently and pointed with his eyes at the gifts.

“Oh,” Sherlock said and started with the first one. “A key,” he said.

“Um…it is the key to something. Your new car.”

“But London has cabs.”

“Yes, but we won’t take cabs to go on holidays. Now open the next gift.”

“Papers…..”

“Vouchers,” John gave an eyeroll, “For a holiday next week, when you’re feeling better. We both deserve a holiday. Scotland, rolling hills and green meadows, a lovely resort in a small picturesque town, next to one of the lakes….sorry, lochs! Maybe we can even spot Nessie.”

“And this?” Sherlock held the small box in his hand. “Guess what,” John winked but when he saw Sherlock beginning to apply his usual science of deduction and start by explaining which country manufactures those boxes, he quickly took the box from Sherlock’s hand and opened it for him. A pair of plain gold bands lay there, both bearing some inscriptions on the side. “It says amor omnia vincit,” Sherlock said, “Love conquers all.”

“Doesn’t it?” John waggled his brows, “So what’s the answer.”

“No marriage but always together.”

“Done, perfect. No more girlfriends, just us, the two of us! I….I love you Sherlock!”

John leaned in, threading his fingers suggestively through Sherlock’s hairs and stroking behind his ears. The detective, dorky as he was, waited until he had understood what was coming up before he took it in his usual inimitable style, _head-on_. He leaned in and grabbed John’s head, kissing him so hard that his teeth and John’s teeth collided with each other’s lips, the faint taste of blood lacing their mouths as they swapped spit and emotions, kissing the hell out of each other. John, who had been contemplating a relationship with Sherlock for a long time, was glad he had finally taken the step and was eager to take this ‘forward’ to more _intimate levels_.

“Wow,” Sherlock gasped and panted as they drew back finally, “So this is how people kiss. I always thought it was unhygienic. I can barely do this to revive someone, they call it the kiss of life, ah, now I know why they call it the kiss of life because this is what kissing is……”

“Baby please,” John insisted, smiling, “Not a lecture right now.”

“Okay then what shall we do?” Sherlock was a picture of innocence as he asked John the basic question. But he also seemed flushed and sweaty, as if he was squirming with some need and at the same time overwhelmed with the experience he had just gone through.

_I need to teach you a few tricks, in fact, lots of tricks_. John kissed Sherlock’s temple and whispered, “I like to call it sex. Or making love. You might wanna call it your initiation, breeding, or an experiment with rather pleasurable results. I promise the results will surprise you! Don’t worry, I will be gentle. I am mindful of your injuries so allow me to take care of you while you lie back and just enjoy it all.”

With that John lifted Sherlock in his arms, plaster et all, and carried him towards the bedroom. At first Sherlock stiffened in his arms before he relaxed and put his arms around John’s neck, laying his right cheek against John’s shoulder. “Jawn?”

“Hmmm?”

“Two things. First, I love you too. Second, guess what’s always been my biggest fear?”

“No, I can’t, I can’t imagine Sherlock Holmes being scared of anything at all,” the good doctor said as he gently lay his lover down on the bed and began to work on his clothes. Sherlock aided him by lifting his butt, taking his shirt off and turning to the side so John could expose more and more skin. When he was totally naked except for the plaster on his foot Sherlock shyly whispered, “My biggest fear was that I’ll die a virgin.”

John chuckled and kissed one nipple, making the beautiful green-eyed man hiss. “Then let’s expel that fear forever, shall we?”

**Valentine’s Day**

John came back home to find Sherlock spread out like a lush exotic oriental rug on their new couch. Clad in a kimono they had bought during their recent trip to Japan, where Sherlock had been invited by the Japanese emperor for a case. The sleuth had not only discovered a dangerous conspiracy to attack a nuclear research plant and cause a near fatal leak into the nearby ocean waters but also neutralized the threat by helping with the arrest of the goons and their chief conspirator, who happened to be a Japanese-American businessman.

Rewards had been enormous, the trip had been excellent, the satisfaction of solving the case immense. On their return, the Baker Street Boys had decided ‘no cases for a fortnight’.

In reality Sherlock and John could afford to take six months off because they had made enough money to live like princes for several years. But it was more about the occupation they so dearly loved and Sherlock’s constant needs to stimulate his brains, hence the holiday period would be much shorter, just two weeks, and that would be centered around February 14th. John wanted them to celebrate Valentine’s Day like a ‘normal couple’ and, despite Sherlock’s wisecracks about ‘normal’ being boring and fruitless, John had prevailed this time. No work for fifteen days, just some downtime spent together in 221B Baker Street and occasionally around their beloved city of London.

“What are you wearing?” John asked with a chuckle, though the sight of a visibly naked Sherlock underneath the green silken kimono was quite the sight for sore eyes. He was beginning to get hard.

“You bought me this,” Sherlock said, “Amongst other things.”

“Hmmm,” John surveyed his lover like a predator, shutting the door behind them and bolting it, “This thing has a sash around the waist, which needs to be tied. Otherwise I can see all the goodies underneath!”

Sherlock stared down his body and shrugged, “So? Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Nope. Seen everything. But today you’re displaying them for a reason, right?”

“Maybe.”

“May I know that reason?”

Sherlock gave the answer in his usual style, no words but a slew of seductive actions. He thrust his pelvis up and stroked his bare chest provocatively, then stretched his long legs and pretended to think hard. This left John was in no position to think or listen, as the sight of his slow striptease completely hijacked the good doctor’s attention. As the silk parted and more white limbs were exposed, the doctor stiffened so fast he was afraid he was going to faint from the rush of blood down south. With a supreme effort he managed not to shamelessly palm himself over his trousers.

“Sherlock,” he spoke in a voice hoarse with desire, hoping he got a ‘yes’ for an answer, “Can I try something new this evening?”

***

“Oh fuck,” John groaned, stroking himself desperately as he felt his orgasm rush up at an alarming speed. His dick throbbed hard between his fingers, the semen rushing to the tip with every stroke of his hand over the sensitive head and the shaft and then a white light exploding behind his closed eyelids as he came with a force so potent it almost knocked him off his kilter. With a literally heartfelt groan and a corresponding jerk in his thighs he shot his load all over the back of Sherlock’s legs and some on the sheets, breathing hard and moaning through every pulse of semen that spurted out.

“Wasn’t that supposed to happen inside me?” Sherlock asked, hips moving in pumping motions as he tried to grind himself against the sheets beneath.

“Sorry,” John moaned, eyes closed as he let go of his over-sensitive cock. He hadn’t expected that premature orgasm but Sherlock’s hungry hole growing bigger and bigger around his invading fingers and slowly sucking the digits in had been too much to resist. “Bad news,” he kissed between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and traced the knobs on his spine with his tongue, “I did cum before I got inside. Good news….actually there are two! One, I came over your rosy arse and this looksreally pretty! Now I can use this as lube and finish what I had started.”

“Second good news?”

“Impatient are we? Yeah, was coming to that.”

“Oh, I thought you came to the sight of me all open and stretched around your fingers.”

There was something about that filthy tongue and the way those words were said that made John’s cock twitch back to life again. Smiling evilly he whispered close to Sherlock’s ear, “The second thing has already happened. My refractory system, which was five minutes, is now reduced to an enviable two minutes. How does this feel?”

John dragged his once again hardening cock over his own cum and rubbed it up and down Sherlock’s cleft. “Uhnnnnn,” Sherlock went, mindless with desire as he pushed up that pert arse and tried to impale himself on John’s cock. “Want this monster inside?” John growled, rubbing himself faster and faster over the slippery arse-crack that moved p and down at a quick pace, “You depraved little whore?”

“P-Please J-Jawn…..”

“How many times have I told you that if you’re gonna be a slut, then be a vocal one at least. Tell me in words what you need from me or else you’re getting nothing.”

Sherlock moaned shamelessly and rasped out, “I need more than just your….fingers this time, please give me your……”

“You still hesitate to say ‘cock’, don’t you love?” Sherlock kissed the hole that was pink and shiny and succulently moist, peeking out at him like a ripe fruit that demanded violation with his tongue. But John had a different plan that evening and was going to stick to that; a few kisses down there was fine but rimming would be for a later round. “I will put my cock in you and you will get me, all nine inches of me, but that’s for later,” the good doctor licked at the twitching, squirming hole between words and Sherlock hissed, “But first you get my fingers and you know DAMN WELL how good my fingers are and what if….my whole hand fits snugly into your tight little purse as if it belonged there?!”

_A choked sound and Sherlock began to grind down harder._

“Hold on till I get my fingers in…..”

“Can’t…..ohhh….let me?”  
  


“Okay, let me do this then!”

Realizing Sherlock needed some relief as well, John thrust in two fingers and probed a bit until he found the sweet little bundle of nerves inside the depths of his lover. He rubbed on it insistently and Sherlock groaned deep in his throat before undignified squeals came out of him. Moments later the fast-moving hips stilled and hot liquid spilled on to the sheets as the detective spread his long legs as wide as possible in a moment of ecstasy.

“Wow,” John smiled, his cock pointing straight at his chin by now, “If only you could see yourself Sherl.”

“Hnnnnn!!!”  
  


“So sexy!”

Taking advantage of the taller man’s relaxed and blissful state, John got two more fingers inside him and moved them out slowly and gently. Sherlock didn’t even realized the additional breach and kept riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm, the inner walls of his snug chamber caving around John’s moving digits. He was still floating in his happy space when John added more lube, using both his cum and the artificial flavored jelly, until he managed to add his _thumb_ in there as well.

“OHHHHH….. _feels so full_!”

“I know, try to relax and you’ll _enjoy_ it soon!”

John waited patiently, despite his raging erection, and allowed Sherlock to completely relax and get used to the intrusion. Once he felt the tense muscles relax around his fist he began to slowly move his entire hand in and out of the younger man, ensuring his knuckles brushed the prostate on every entrance and nudged it just a bit on every withdrawal. The incredible feeling of being fist fucked by John left Sherlock a screaming, babbling mess, making him plead for more and shamelessly push back on the hand. John smiled at the man spread out before him, shaking hard from top to toe, head raised and thrashing about, and knew he had succeeded in pleasuring his mate.

Truth be told, he had never done this to anyone before and he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would be able to take it. He knew Sherlock had a tough side which the world saw but there was also a vulnerable, fragile side to him which only John Watson knew of. That side could crumble and that was what worried John when he had decided to _fist_ Sherlock. He continued, not going overboard at once but giving a bit more each time, until Sherlock screamed and came.

John laughed triumphantly as he felt those tight muscles squeeze even tighter around his hand, making him almost lose it for the second time.

“Jawn-Jawn-Jawn,” Sherlock chanted, moaning softly as he lay there, face down, limbs spread out like a starfish.

“I am here,” John assured.

“Uhhh,” Sherlock winced slightly as John carefully withdrew his hand, “N-No…..need more!”

“How about my cock,” John whispered hotly into Sherlock’s ear and felt the tremor that ran down the younger man’s body, “Along with your favorite vibrating toy…..ohh, eager are we?” Sherlock had thrust the toy into John’s hand already. Apparently he had it under the pillow all the time. John kissed his lover’s bottom and rolled him over, staring into those dazed blue-green eyes, “How did you know?”

“The word is ‘prepared’,” Sherlock smirked, panting, “I am a detective, it’s my business to know it all.”

“Hmmm.”

Long legs lifted in the air, exposing the abused hole.

“Fuck…..sexy!”

The toy went in and was turned on at medium speed. As Sherlock let out a low, rolling moan, John plunged in and came immediately, followed by a crowing Sherlock who had a spontaneous orgasm by feeling John cum inside.

***

“NO,” John grabbed Sherlock’s fist as the detective reached for the kimono, “You’re not wiping all this with that thing. Not with that, no sir.”

Sherlock whined and made the face that was a cross between lazy, pleading and helplessness. _Am so very wiped out Jawn, I can’t move Jawn, you don’t really expect me to move really do you Jawn?!_ John knew him so well that he read into the expression before Sherlock spoke a word. He then did what he knew he was _always_ expected to do after such a passionate tryst; pamper and indulge Sherlock with gestures, words and cuddles. “Yeah, yeah, I will get the towel and clean up, change the sheets, but no, you are not going to touch that kimono until you’re as good as new!”

A few minutes later, as they lay cuddled together on the couch, the washing machine making subtle whirring sounds in the distance as it washed the towel, some clothes and the sheet they had spread out on the couch, John absentmindedly stroked Sherlock’s hairs with one of his hands and the silken kimono with the other. It was truly delicate, somewhat sheer, a bright flaming red with white and yellow flower patterns on it, a dark maroon sash hanging from the loops around the waist line. “Is that a kimono kink I discovered tonight?” Sherlock asked, staring at John through narrowed eyes.

“Well, it’s red,” John said, “The color of the V-day theme. It’s delicate, like you are in bed. It’s unique and sexy, pretty much like you are.”

“So _I am a kink too_?”

“Nope.”

“Obsession?”

“That’s such a wrong word. Obsession, addition, those are nothing to be proud of. You, my darling, are my _pride_. So, fascination, devotion and passion I believe are the right words here.”

“Even though I am going to be forty next year.”

“Even when you’ll turn eighty next year.”

Sherlock suddenly giggled and John climbed over him, immobilizing him with a swift movement. He held down his lover and gave him a mock-angry look.

“Explain.”

“It just occurred to me that when we are that old, passion will need some artificial means of insemination.”

John rolled his eyes and smacked Sherlock on the side before lying down and cuddling him again. _Trust his eccentric lover to make the most unusual comments and weird metaphors_. But there was not a single side of Sherlock’s that John didn’t love and look forward to, even the weirdest ones. “Happy Valentine’s Day Sherlock,” he whispered. He had thought Sherlock would say something smartass or something totally peculiar or just grunt and remain silent but Sherlock surprised him this time by wishing him back and even adding a soft ‘I love you Jawn’ at the tail end of it.

John didn’t need much more than that to be the happiest man in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> It's longish and I hope you read till the end! Just a fun piece. Hopefully I kept Sherlock mostly in character!


End file.
